Most of what follows is true
by youcantmakethisup
Summary: Sam and Dean are going after a legend. He was invisible when alive and couldn’t be found when thought dead. But this great outlaw has left traces and now he is calling the Winchesters home.
1. Chapter 1

_I am in love with this story idea and this is why I want to make it a good story. Right now, I do not have a beta since I am relatively new to writing in this fandom - so if there are any volunteers, please do not hesitate to come forth!_

_I do appreciate a review since I know the story idea is pretty bold and I want this to turn out good. Anyone who likes the idea of toying with this, please let me know what you think and how it could be done better. I do not mind harsh words - this is actually what keeps me going and getting better! Thank you all very much in advance. And in case there is someone out there who actually likes this tale - I am looking for someone who could make a banner for this story as I want to publish it in other places as well. I have a ton of pics that are my own and would like to work them in._

_Last but not least: I do not own anything and that is good 'cause I am not a nice person when it comes to proper treatment of fictional characters. WHUMP! _

Dean certainly wasn't the book smart type. Like Sam was.

He had never read much literature or poetry. He had not once been to an opera and when he came across certain tv channels where people talking used more than three words in one sentence he didn't know, Dean just wouldn't bother.

But Dean could read people. He was really quick on the uptake when the motel clerk in a small town gave 'em the looks about two guys in one room. He realized when there was free piece of pie just lingering beyond the longing eyes of an early aged waitress in a cheap diner and he could tell fake fear from real terror.

And – better than anyone – Dean could read Sammy. And that was exactly the reason why Dean was stuck in Richfield/Utah right now. And from what he could tell, he might just be stuck there for quite some time.

It was just one of these days when he had mentioned – now for the umpteenth time – that „Awwww, Sammy, really. It's not even that bad anymore. Let's head out. Waddaya say...uhm...there is really cool stuff like just around the corner. We could be at Bryce Canyon for sunset. C'mon that shakes your romantic cords, don't it" when Sam had snapped.

Just like that.

„Really Dean? Cool stuff? Cool like Let's Pulverize A Fucking Ghost On A Fucking Ancient Bridge That Has Fucking Holes In It Through Which You Just Might Take A Fucking Plunge When You Tease Instead Of Watching Where He Goes? Cool like that Dean?"

Dean was just about to open his mouth when sasquatch made him realize that he hadn't let off enough steam quite yet. In fact, when Dean had raised his head in some sort of curiosity at his brothers intense cussing – quite unusal for Sammy – he realized that there was MUCH more to come. Sam had like – Dean was at loss for better words – kind of an aura around him. A strong field of burning anger that was so unlike Sam that Dean almost beamed with joy. Finally. His brother wasn't dead after all.

Only, Dean wasn't really sure he should tell Sam right this very minute how happy he was about this lively comeback of his – because said aura of unrepetent fury now seemed to be directed at the only other living being in the room.

And most unfortunately that was Dean.

Who was in great pain at the moment (not that he would tell) and who was still in dire need of a big guy dragging him to the bathroom if this was the place he needed to be. Dean, who really needed to be on good terms with his baby brother – at least for a few more days.

So, Dean was ready to drop a "Sorry" and more than willing to let the issue go until tomorrow when Sam made two quick steps towards the hospital bed Dean was currently kind of tied to.

He was still sort of glowing. Only, more intense now.

Dean reached for the alarm button and thought that this was pretty ridiculous. But then again – his brothers unruly mop of hair looked like raging flames around his head. His eyes shot daggers.

"Or cool like C'mon-Sam-the-devils-backbone-that's-like-a-fucking-homecoming-isn't-it?"

Sam was ready to explode. Dean could tell. His brothers hands were shaking and he knew it. That was probably why Sam raised them to his face and through his hair when he leaned really close to Dean. Sam drew a shaking breath and Dean could tell how hard it was for him to hold it together. He was watching intently now.

"I don't care how cool you think it was, Dean. It wasn't"

Aww, fuck. No tears, Sammy! Come on!

"It wasn't. 'Cause from where I was watching you came THIS close to spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair"

Great…he's actually bawling even though he is still mad as hell. That's like rain and sunshine at the same time.

"And the way I know you…I know that the minute a doctor had told you this, it would have been your sole purpose in life to get your hands on a gun to blow your brains out. And I just wont do that. I wont. You hear me?"

Fuck, how long did that surgery last? How much time did that freak have to toss shitty thoughts like that around in his oversized head?

"Mum is gone. Dad is god knows where. I lost Jessica and my life as it were. You're all I have left and I intend to keep it that way. Do you get this, Dean? I mean it!"

Sam was growling now and that didn't sit to well with Dean. Nothing did in fact right now and he felt as shaken as his brother looked.

"'Kay Sammy. Allright, we'll just…I just…let it get better. Okay?"

Sam just nodded, sat still for a moment with his hands over his face. Only the hitching breaths told Dean that it still wasn't save to come back with a light comment. Then his brother wiped his face with one determined brush of his hands befor he got up and bolted for the door.

"I'll get coffee"

_Thanks again for reading and it would be great if you could leave a review!_

_Story outline is finished, updates will be every 3 days._


	2. Chapter 2

_Still setting the stage a little._

To be completely honest – Dean HAD felt really good about this particular gig in the Utah desert. Far away from any town, no passerby's to worry about and dusty gravel roads.

When they had finally found the rotten bridge on which the former Civilian Conservation Corps employee Ben Halverston had set up camp to lethally annoy the few tourists that found their way out there every year, the mood was light.

„Sam, we should totally get a picture or something. Maybe find a donkey to pose with us. Huh?"

Sam had smiled, for the first time in days and Dean kept the jokes coming. Maybe it was that or maybe it was the high temperatures and the sun, which had only recently set behind the mountains. All Dean remembered was that Mr. Halverston had turned up half a second before he could reach the next punchline of the now ongoing donkey-joke.

And, oh yes, he remembered being shoved, hard. Reaching out to where there should be something, but wasn't, Dean had then realized that things were going downhill. Literally.

After a pang and a snap he really didn't remember anything.

But Dean clearly recalled a rather nice feeling when coming to. It was warm and pain free and Sam was right there.

But since good things never last, the second time was much less of all the above and soon enough it had been brought to his attention that he'd really messed this one up good.

But that didn't mean Richfield/Utah would have to be considered a new permanent home for the Winchesters and that is why Dean had started the whining as soon as he had his voice back.

First, he mentioned the wonky health insurance.

"S'fine, Dean", Sam had said.

Then Dean questioned the idea of staying too long in once place. With the FBI and all…

"Fake names. We're good", Sam had said.

Stepping up the game, Dean had finally mentioned their Dad.

"M'sure we'll find him sooner or later"

And when Dean still hadn't stopped, Sam had snapped. Just like that.

All right, so it was time to get the big guns out and Dean was confident that he could totally do the quiet thing.

So, when Sam was feeling a little better _(god, I hope he is)_ and had returned with a cup of coffee a short while later _(no, of course I didn't want one in this fragile state I'm in, thank you very much)_, Dean had given his best-of-deepest-sighs, closed his eyes and asked for the television off _(there, see how like that, bitch!)_.

He kept it up for a few hours (because he fell asleep) and when he woke up, Sam looked up from his book and smiled at him with mild but fond interest.

"Hey, how you're doing? Want a drink of water or something?"

And while Dean pondered whether he should commit suicide by plastic spoon or strangle himself with the assless hospital gown, god himself stepped in to end his misery.

The phone rang.

"Hey, Bobby", Sam answered

"No, we're still in the area, 'cause Dean…."

"No, he's fine…will be, I guess"

"Yes, I am. But…."

"How far away is it?"

"Really? Well, I guess I could stop by…. Sure Bobby, I will"

AMEN

**************************************************

The woman was as pretty as a soccer mum gets. Her honey blonde hair carefully tied up. Not the quickie to prevent the kids from pulling or chewing on it. Silk blouse, unobtrusive makeup and a pleasant voice.

Sam thought that he could have drawn worse.

"There was Pamela, Julie and I, of course. We all saw it happen. All of us!"

The woman – Erika – looked at him triumphantly as if the sheer number of eyewitnesses alone would make it true.

"One street light after the other went out. But they didn't just turn off. They exploded. One after the other. And it was coming towards us!"

"Have you spoken to the police about this. Or maybe some City official?", Sam inquired.

"Of course, we have. We were told there was a power failure. But how does that make lights explode? One after the other?"

Sam winced. He was really itching to call his brother and he needed a break. Just as he got ready to thank Erika for her time and head out, she started over.

"There is more. There was this incident with the dogs on the roof"

"The what?"

"We found dogs, all from our neighborhood, on the rooftops one morning"

"How…"

"Police said they might have gotten scared by a thunderstorm. But in my mind, this would probably make a dog dig a hole in the ground. But climb on a rooftop?"

"Errr…"

"And of course, the panties' incident"

"What…???"

"Pamela Bower found all of her underwear – beautiful lingerie, of course – one day laid out on the front lawn when she came home from work. She does have some astonishingly hot pieces and they were all clean. But, it's not exactly what a woman wants to share with the world. If you know what I mean…People thought it was a yard sale"

Sam rubbed his temples and shut his notebook.

"Thank you Erika. I...I will look into this. And…in the meantime…if anything comes up – this is my number and I want you to call. Anything, ok?"

He shoved a piece of paper across the table and left the cozy family-diner. Blinking around Main Street he took what he thought was one last glance at the town of Salina and headed back to Richfield.


	3. Chapter 3

"Man, I do wonder how they managed to blow up the lights, though"

"Does it matter?"

"I always wanted to…"

Dean looked up just in time to see Sam giving him THE look

"…when I was young and stupid…", Dean murmured and bowed his head back over the research that was scattered across his bed.

Sam shook his head and smiled. The devilish gleam in Dean's eyes had given him away too easily and Sam wondered if his brother would like to meet and interview the little prankster that the Salina Sheriffs Department currently held responsible for all the "occurrences" in their town – just to congratulate him.

"Big pile of nothing", Sam shrugs.

"I am with you on this", Dean agrees, "and the police. Bummer. Mark the calendar"

"I should get back to Bobby", Sam finally sais.

"Yeah, you probably should", Dean nods and starts to gather the papers when the phone chirps back to life on it's own.

"This is Sam…"

"Erika?"

"When did this happen?"

****************************************************

The second time, Sam actually had to turn right off Mainstreet and came by nice houses, clipped lawns and passed a lot of big shiny trucks.

He stopped when he saw the woman he had talked too earlier and got out of the car.

He could tell that Erika was upset pointing a finger at an elderly man in blue jeans and a dark shirt. He stubbornly shook his head at everything she was saying and held his arms defensively crossed over his chest.

"What exactly happened", Sam asks, looking at both and waiting for one of them to speak.

"And who would you be?", the man speaks calmly, watching Sam with pale blue eyes.

"My name is Sam and I spoke to this woman earlier about the…rather strange things that have occurred here recently. It's for a paper. College", Sam offers.

"Nothing 'strange' is happening here", the man grumbles and gestures towards a pile of wood behind him in the yard.

"I guess I'm just not the builder I thought I was. Been trying to set up a carport and it keeps falling down…"

Sam frowned.

"Oh it does indeed, doesn't it Mr. Scott. Every single time. Only this time, it almost buried my son!"

"Your boy wasn't even supposed to be on my property. Teach him to play basketball in the gym! And besides, he's fine, isn't he"

"You know that this is not what this is all about. I mean, of course, it is. But this….", Erika shoved her hands towards the debris of the wannabe carport, "This isn't normal. It just isn't. I know this and so do you. I am not crazy and I don't care what you say. It just isn't normal".

She shakes her head in defeat and walks towards the car.

"Poor girl"

"It keeps falling down?"

"Boy, what I can say…should've invested in stronger bolts, I guess. But you know, these people…", Mr. Scott shakes his head, "they come down here from the big cities, buy farms and want to live the desert life. But they get scared of everything. Every wind, every snake, everything they can't explain. S'just not like that 'round here, you know. Some things…"

Sam smiles.

"Yeah, I hear ya. Some things are just the way they are"

**********************************************************

Sam has booked himself in one of the nicer Motels in town, knowing full well that if he has to get his brother in the morning.

Actually, he hopes that Dean will last this long and prays that there wont be a late night call from the hospital claiming his brother AWOL.

But it appears that Dean's mood is brilliant at the moment. The prospect of leaving keeps him happy and so does the nurse who has offered to read him the paper – "Sam always does this when he is here" – since he just can't do that yet.

Sam rolls his eyes.

"So, what is your best guess?", Dean barks as if in a hurry.

"I'm not sure, not until I know more about this place. But some angry teenage ghost, someone who never got to be a kid in his time?"

"Well, you keep thinking. Don't be late tomorrow!"

Dean is kind of glad that Sam didn't get much done in Salina this afternoon – strict library hours – and hopes that research keeps going slow.

He doesn't want his brother going after whatever until he is ready to tag along. While he contemplates calling Bobby for backup, the pretty nurse starts reading again and as Dean gazes at her slowly moving lips, thinking is postponed.

**********************************************************

It's getting late and they are getting nowhere.

Sam watches Dean from across the room and can see deep lines of pain on his brothers' face. He knows that Dean won't last much longer and fishes for the painkillers. Dean looks up.

"S'time again?"

"Yeah", Sam lies, "you're supposed to take them now".

As he hands over the water bottle he desperately wants to touch his brother's skin. Dean's cheeks are flushed and Sam can see a little sweat just above his upper lip.

"If he gets feverish again, you bring him back! You understand?"

Sam had just nodded and the doctor had seemed satisfied. Well, not exactly satisfied, but he'd let them go.

What was I supposed to say, Sam wonders. "Sorry doc, you had your chance. You spring him loose, he's gone"?

"What the hell, Sam. I think I wanna continue this tomorrow", Dean drawls.

Lights out, Sam sighs and returns to this computer.

People die in Salina, all right. But just not necessarily at a young age. A couple of accidents, sure. But there is nothing worth doubting. Drunk driving – that's the worst the judge has ever seen. And the old and the young get along almost too well. Hell, the annual Independence-Day-Parade is organized by the high school - and the folks at "Fairview Garden Retirement Home" are making the costumes for them.

********************************************************

The next morning, Dean is leaning heavily on a pair of crutches and insists on coming along for breakfast.

"C'mon, Sammy. This is cow country. Think, I could have a cow for breakfast?"

Sam snorts and can't deny some happiness over the fact that he won't have to eat alone.

A friendly waitress brings coffee and shows curiosity.

"Just passing through?"

"Well", Sam pouts, "s'not like there is much to do around here"

"Yeah, well. The golden years are over, I guess. Lots of competition around here"

"And when would those Golden Years have been?", Dean flashes his best smirk and the waitress takes the bait.

"Oh, you know before all the smaller coal mines closed, we did really well. And then of course there was the outlaws trail going right through Salina. But, as I said…"

"Uhm..Miss…Tammie…what exactly is that? The outlaws trail?"

"Oh my, have you never heard of Butch Cassidy?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

So, turned out Butch Cassidy was real. And he didn't look like Paul Newman at all. Bummer..

Not only could Tammie provide them with his real name – Robert LeRoy Parker – and a map to his home in Circleville – _"It is closed for visitors. His sister was really upset by the tourists"_ - she also handed the brothers a slip of paper that held name and address of a local historian, who could tell them EVERYTHING about this famous outlaw.

They decided to split up. Dean browsed through books Sam had gathered at a nearby store while Sam went off to see the historian named Lester Harrigan.

"They weren't really evil, you know," Violet told him; Les' wife, as she brought tea and cookies.

"My grandma used to say that it was just a wild bunch of boys who didn't know where to draw to line." She looked at Sam with such honesty that he almost wanted to offer absolution to a bank robber.

Violet elegantly slid into the small loveseat between her husband and a black poodle. Her petite figure almost disappeared between the cushions.

"They were criminals, you know," Lester raised a boneyfinger.

********************************************

It was getting dark when Sam returned to the motel. Dean was already looking better.

"Dude! Did you know that they were considered the smartest criminals of their time?", Dean barked at him the second Sam was through the door.

_Just hoping you are willing to keep it strictly business brother...I feel like crap and I need a break from the hovering_.

"What's smart about a criminal career; killing people, robbing banks and being chased by every upright citizen?"

"Not murderers! Dean flipped a page in one of the books and vehemently shook his head.

"From what I read, Butch never killed a soul. He had a friend, though, Sundance. He was a little different,"

„I see. You did your homework then. Have you and „Butch" bonded over beer or a shot of whiskey?"

Dean ignored the jibe and kept his nose buried in his book.

"It's kind of interesting, you know. He'd have it all planned out. Horses put strategically at some place, hideouts in the mountains. That's why they were never caught", he quirked an eyebrow.

"Except for when they were. And killed", Sam felt obliged to add.

"Well, that's the part I haven't really gotten to yet. Y'now when we sometimes complain about that there's not enough information. In this case, I think there is too much"

"Whatta ya mean?"

"There's like a hundred different theories about what happened in…uhhh… Bolivia ,"

"But no facts!"

"How do you know?"

"Well, apparently we aren't the first ones, trying to dig them up"

"There were other hunters on this case?"

"No, not hunters, Dean. Archaeologists."

********************************************************

Earlier that day

When Lester started opening up about the events in 1992, Sam felt forced to start taking notes. Apparently two passionate people had ventured out on, what they hoped would give them the final word on the whereabouts of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid's bones.

Mrs. Anne Meadows and her husband Dan Buck travelled over South America like no other couple had ever done before. They finally found a little graveyard where they suspected the remains of the two "Pistoleros"; as the locals called them, to be. The couple had been searching for years.

By the time they put the shovel in the ground, the couple was financially broke. Two mortgages on their home, empty checking account; even their two cars back home were sold by friends, who could only shake their heads at what they were witnessing. Still, their friends helped the determined couple that called every other week with their voices quivering in excitement and hope. _"I think we really found them. This time, we really found them,"_

Sam couldn't understand any of this.

"Why would they do that? For two outlaws that were killed almost 90 years ago?"

"Wasn't like that", Lester insisted.

"They were outlaws, alright. Bank robbers, thieves; committed fraud more often than they said something outright honest. But people liked them. They weren't bad men, y'know,"

Sam shook his head. _Of course they were!_

"Why? Why do you think that?"

He could feel himself getting worked up

"'Cause that's what I been told," Lester answered with a shrug.

"I wasn't born yet. But my grandparents knew Butch – or Robert, for that matter. He and his folks came to Circleville back in…uhm…would have to look that up," He said absently.

"Big Mormon family; lots of kids. Tired mom and an angry dad who wouldn't put up with any crap."

Sam forced a smile and nodded.

"Robert didn't fit in. He was a nice kid, but trouble. Always sweet and polite, but his head was in the clouds as they said. Always lookin' for trouble. Always,"

Lester reached for his coffee and cleared his throat. Violet nodded animatedly and refilled the cup when her husband emptied it.

"He was out'n about. My folks didn't see him for a couple of years. Then he returned and rumors had it, he was a criminal. Even that he spent some time in jail," she continued for him.

"But, you see, Butch never came to take anything from the townspeople. He respected their labor and only robbed the big guys. Those cattle barons that would squeeze out the life of the rural ranchers", Lester paused and shook his head as he remembered.

Sam could barely keep his frustration with the old couple in check.

"Yeah, sounds like a real Robin Hood…"

"Oh, you know", Violet chimed in excitedly, "some people said he was."

It was getting more and more difficult not to roll his eyes.

"Allright, but he was STILL a criminal!" Sam insisted.

"Oh, those boys," Lester chuckled obliviously. "They made a fortune in their day and they spend it all on silly clothes, alcohol and women".

Sam huffed.

"But, you know, every Christmas, they would send presents to their friends. Not silly things, but things they were in need of. And they were generous!" With that, Lester heaved himself out of his armchair and walked over to the wooden cabinet in the corner. After he rummaged around for a minute, he returned with a dusty leather box.

"Go ahead, open it!" Lester motioned towards Sam. "That's what Butch sent to my grandfather in….uhm…" He scratched his balding head. "I'll have to look that up. But it was definitely Christmas!"

It was about an hour later when Sam left the house of the elderly couple. He wasn't sure if he'd learned anything of importance.

But one thing struck him as odd. Les had certainly known about all the bizarre happenings in town. But, just as Mr. Scott earlier, he had strongly denied anything unnatural about them.

Checking his watch, Sam realized how late it already was. He wouldn't have been able to tell by the way the sun was setting. It was more of a quiet fainting of light than an actual sunset. And that made him want to leave this place even more. The heat, the absence of a fresh wind – it all made him feel as if the world had just stopped turning.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam - being kind - gave Dean the short version of the Meadows' trip to Bolivia . They'd dug up the remains of two men; going by 100 years old paperwork only.

However, he didn't leave out the part about the "Pistoleros" that were being killed in the famous San Vincente shooting of 1908 and how they were supposedly buried next to a German fellow who had blown himself up while trying to dry explosives on his stove.

Dean was still crying happy tears when Sam went on about Les and Violet and their somewhat strange devotion to the criminals they had never met. It was only when Sam mentioned the brass compass that was given to Les' grandfather that Dean looked up and gasped.

"What did you just say?"

"A math compass, Dean. Device to draw circles, you know. It looked really beautiful and must've cost a fortune", Sam answered a little confused.

"Five bucks. He paid five bucks for this thing", Dean answered absentmindedly and stared at Sam with wide eyes.

"What? How do you know?"

"Was it in a box? Light brown leather with some sort of engraving?"

"Yes…what?…-"

"I dreamed about it", Dean says, "just this afternoon. Butch bought in New York and sent it to a guy who was never able to determine if his property was taxed right"

"You read this", Sam laughed nervously, "in one of those books". He reached for the book next to Dean when his brother grabbed his wrist.

"Already checked. It's not in the book", Dean looked at him with slight alarm in his eyes.

Sam stared back.

"So…" he whispered, "you really think we're hunting Butch Cassidy?"

Before his brother could answer Sam's attention was drawn away by a loud shatter. His head flew towards the window next to the door.

It was in pieces and before Sam could start searching for the stone or WHATEVER broke the glass, the window in the small dining area suffered the same fate.

He looked at Dean who was reaching under his pillow with his left and into the nightstand with his right. Sam became acutely aware of the window next to his brothers' bed.

Dean could grab all the weapons he wanted, but he wouldn't be going anywhere in his condition right now. Sam just knew his brother wouldn't be fast enough.

And Dean knew that Sam knew.

"Damn," Dean flattened on the bed as his brothers' large frame tackled and pinned him, just as the rattle started again.

When Dean was sure that there were no more windows left, he slowly raised his head and met his brother's cheek.

He groaned.

"Actually. I think Butch Cassidy might be hunting us…"

**************************************************************************************

Despite all the glass in his hair, Sam recovered quickly.

"Ok, that's it! We're leaving. Now!"

"What? No, Sam, are you crazy? There IS a job in this town!"

"Oh, I agree with you. But this one. IT'S. NOT. FOR. US!"

Sam began packing.

_Oh no you whiny little bitch! Fuck your A-grades in debate club and all! This might be my last gig and it promises to be one hell of a ride. Not dropping that bone anymore._

"We'll call someone else to cover this", Sam continued.

_The hell we are. It's fucking dead outlaws we're up against._

"Might be too late when they get here. This one's moving fast", Dean responded sharply and motioned with a snap of his fingers. He had his confident face on. Worked almost every time.

"Not our problem. WE have bigger things to worry about", Sam said, stopping his frantic moves only for a second.

Dean didn't like where this was going so he went for stubborn. "Well, then you move on. I won't leave these people with a crazed out ghost of a gunslinger," he gave his brother the cat stare, but Sam returned it with a cold smile.

"Well, YOU won't be going anywhere if I'm gone."

Sam regretted saying it the minute the words left his mouth. He kneeled down next to the bed, lowered his head and was getting ready for the pleading look of doom. But the older brother was faster.

"Please, Sammy", Dean reached for his brother's shirt, "This guy, whoever this is. He's already in my head. I saw him in my dreams! Do you really think that putting miles between him and us is going to solve this?"

Sam was crumbling. Dean could feel it.

"I don't wanna leave just because of them," he pleaded, "I need to get rid of him too"

Sam looked a little scared.

Shoot, hit, sink – jeez, kiddo; will you ever grow up to be a challenge? Dean thought with mild shock on his face.

"What..?", Sam inquired.

"What? Oh, nothing…just…What do you think? Are you with me on this?"

"Dean, you know I am always with you. I'm just scared…and I want…I need you to get better", Sam said and slowly reached out for his brothers shoulder to reaffirm his words.

_Just this once, pal. Just this once I'm taking one for the greater cause_

Reluctantly, Dean put his hand to cover Sam's.

"I'm glad to have you as my brother"


End file.
